Truth of the Matter
by ncfan
Summary: -Ron, Percy- "In another four years, it would have been you." Percy acquaints Ron with some uncomfortable truths about them both. Post-DH.


**Characters**: Ron, Percy**  
Summary**: "In another four years, it would have been you." Percy acquaints Ron with some uncomfortable truths about them both. Post-DH.**  
Pairings**: None**  
Author's Note**: If his row with Arthur has showed us anything about Percy, it's that he has a genuinely nasty side; I'm trying to explore that here. I can't help but think that if Percy stays calm in a fight, his tactic will probably be to calmly and coolly pick his opponent apart. Also, Ron never has a kind word for Percy in canon, and I think there's a reason for that: he sees more of Percy in himself than he cares to admit, and Ron, who wants more than anything else to be his own man, wishes he couldn't see it. That will also be explored.**  
Disclaimer**: I don't own _Harry Potter_.

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It's sheer, unpleasant (as far as Ron's concerned) coincidence that the two happen to run into each other in the Leaky Cauldron, and sitting next to him now, Ron can't help but scorn Percy's cup of wine. He should have known there was something wrong about him from the moment he learned just how _finicky_ his older brother is about his alcohol: Percy doesn't like Firewhiskey and he doesn't particularly care for Butterbeer either.

Ron's blustery, inarticulately angry questions is out in a blast of Firewhiskey and years-long resentment kept bottled up, and Percy stops to blink at the words. Ron wanted to see him grow flustered and angry himself, but is denied that chance at Percy's disturbing calm.

"_Why'd you go say those things to Dad, huh? What did he ever do to deserve to hear those things from you? Where do you get off, thinking you had a right to say that sort of stuff?"_

Ron likes to think that those are valid questions.

Percy takes a while to respond, sipping out of his wine glass and staring glassy-eyed at the opposite wall. He shouldn't be this _calm_, Ron's sure. He ought to be more emotional; he _ought_ to at least show some defensiveness at his brother's accusations.

Surely, even Percy is possessed of that level of decency.

Finally, he speaks.

"This strikes me as a highly nonsensical line of questioning, considering who it's coming from." Percy's tone is perilously smooth, even slightly mocking. "I should think, Ron, that you of all people would understand why I said what I did that night."

"Who could possibly understand you?" Ron demands bluntly, glaring at him and wishing Percy didn't wear glasses—it would be so much easier to see his eyes.

"I should think you would," Percy responds coolly. "Considering that, had it not been I who argued with Dad, and had circumstances been different, in another four years time it would have been you saying those things to him."

For a moment, Ron can only gape at him.

After the moment has passed, his hackles are unmistakably on the rise.

"What's that supposed to mean? Why would I ever—" For a moment, Ron entertains the very real suspicion that Percy is trying to foster a sense of paranoia in him. Then, he discards it, remembering the also very real fact that Percy's never been good at manipulating people.

Then, he can't pretend to know his brother very well. Not anymore, anyway; Ron can't remember ever seeing Percy so coolly composed, so calm under pressure as he is now. Percy's so different; he even _looks_ different, his face slightly gaunt, his wild, curly hair just a little unkempt and longer than Ron remembers it ever being

For the first time that night, Percy displays some of that old impatience he was so well-known at Hogwarts, the bridge of his nose wrinkling slightly as it used to. "Don't give me that look, Ron. You know exactly what I'm talking about.

"Dad's not a bad man; that's not what I'm trying to say. He has been a foolish one, though, in regards to the choices he's made."

Ron opens his mouth angrily, and Percy cuts him off with a hand. "Dad loved his job in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office; we know that. That's all fine and well and admirable; there aren't too many who can say that they love their jobs the way he can. But that job of his, in that leaky side office? It didn't pay very well.

"Dad's love of Muggle cars and teacups often made him forget that he had seven children that needed to be fed and clothed; he spent more time out in the shed tinkering than he did with us. He didn't see how short our trousers were getting in the leg or how thin we were getting when he couldn't bring the money in," Percy notes bitterly. "He had—has—his head constantly in the clouds and the more he dreams, the less he thinks about reality. That Flying Ford Anglia? It was an escape from reality! We were—are a poor family. He should have been thinking more of how to get food on the table." The note of harsh disapproval in Percy's voice is unmistakable, and Ron can't think of anything with which to refute it.

"And you remember how it was at Hogwarts, as much as I do. People didn't see you. They saw your red hair and your freckles, but more importantly than that, they saw your shabby robes that were too short in the pant leg and the sleeve, the scuffed shoes. You do remember, don't you Ron?" Percy's tone indicates he already knows the answer.

Ron's jaw clenches. Yes, he remembers. He remembers Malfoy's taunts and the more sympathetic looks and whispers of still more students all too well.

"_You know the Weasleys—too many children and not enough money."_

"_Their Dad's an absolute nut. He enchanted a _car_ to make it fly!"_

"And you're hearing those whispers now, aren't you Ron?" Percy's tone is too conversational, his gaze too shrewdly mild. "Working in the Ministry, training to be an Auror, you _should_ be hearing them. Believe me, I did.

"Everyone thinks Dad's a bit of a joke even now, even if he is a war hero. You hear the whispers, the backward insults disguised as compliments. Dad's a joke, and it hangs over you the same way it did me. You have to outlive the insults, outlive his shadow, and prove to them that you're not a younger version of him if you want to get anywhere. I had to, and you will too." For a moment, Percy's face contorts hideously, as if he did not wish it had to be so. The moment passes, and his pale features reassemble themselves.

Ron feels distinctly sick as he stares down at the Firewhiskey, and decides he probably shouldn't be drinking any more of it. As much as he doesn't want to admit it, Percy's words have struck far deeper than they should have.

The sheer brutality of their honesty has seen to that.

"That still doesn't explain why you had to leave," Ron whispers, anger and a hint of something—is it loneliness? Is it a sense of what's been lost? Is it a sense, for the first time in his life, that Percy really is flesh and blood and he ought to have seen him as such earlier?—flavoring his voice noticeably.

The expression that comes over Percy's face isn't unkind, but there's no hint of _that_ in his voice as he goes on. "Admit it, Ron. You feel poverty as keenly as I do. You resent being poor as much as I do, maybe even more so. Dad had four kids—the Twins hated it too; why do you think they started the joke shop?—who hated the condition we found ourselves in and he never saw it. Or he just chose not to see it," Percy adds, in a muttered voice.

"You had the same thoughts as I did. The only difference between us is that I was at least honest about it. You're not the one who said the words out loud, but believe me Ron, that doesn't make them any less real. The most fatal spells are the ones that don't need words," he remarks cryptically, rubbing his forefinger across the rim of his glass and staring broodingly at the remnants of elderflower wine. He's almost disturbingly nonchalant about the whole thing.

"I'm not like you," Ron mutters, not daring to even look at Percy.

"Fine, fine, you're not like me. I wouldn't dare to venture that you're a carbon copy of me, Ron. We both love our Dad, even if he is a fool when it comes to money. And after all, I'm not the one who smiled to his face and cursed him to his back, am I?"

Ron's eyes snap to Percy.

Percy chooses just this moment to get up and leave, slapping a few Sickles on the table and tugging his cloak closer about him, preparing to go out into the rain in Diagon Alley. "I'll be seeing you," Percy murmurs, before leaving.

Ron again finds himself staring at his Firewhiskey.

He wishes he hadn't got it.

He feels sick.

Ron wishes, more than anything, that he could say that Percy is wrong.

* * *

Well? What do you think; I'd like advice on the characterization and such.


End file.
